


Being Ordinary

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Serial Killers, Sociopaths, dark!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is more than he seems. On the outside he's ordinary. He's got average blue eyes, common sandy blond hair, and a forgettable everything else. John is more than he seems and has a rather dark hobby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Ordinary

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to write this based on a small convo I had the other day where we wondering what John would be like as a not-good sort of person.

The blood had barely cooled but John had to leave. It was too risky now, the sun was about to come up and sneaking away was going to be difficult as it was. Sheathing his knife, the doctor stood back and examined the corpse. Unidentifiable, at least out here, no one would bother really trying. There were too many other things to worry about than bodies in sandy caves. John checked himself over but as usual he was spotless. A steady hand was ever so useful in these situations. He packed away his knife collection. He was glad he was going back to England after his tour was done. John was sick of the heat.

Later on that day he remembered his thoughts as his own blood stained his clothes and the agony in his decimated shoulder made him bite through his lip to stifle his own cries. Morphine dreams made him wake in hospital, the permanent ache in his right arm letting him know he’d never wield a blade with precision again. John wished he had died and vowed to take his anger out on the people that had denied him that blessed oblivion. He was being sent to London and vengeance would take time but John was willing to wait. Patience was a virtue he cultured early in his life. A killer who became a doctor needed patience and John Hamish Watson, once of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers had it.

London was a fucking hole. Why had he ever wanted to live here? John roamed the streets night after night, looking for relief, looking for anything really that would break the monotony of the endless days where NOTHING happened. John watched the people around him, trying to recall what it was like to walk like he hadn’t a care in the world, as if buying one knife at a time from pawn shops wasn’t the only thing keeping him from opening his own veins, as if anything at all mattered except that time just inched by relentlessly and dragged John with it.

He’d been back for months. John was bored. He took to watching people, never really sticking with anyone for long but slowly he got to know the larger neighborhood around him. There wasn’t a lot of money but the area was rich in homeless people, especially youngsters. John didn’t like that. He had a soft spot for kids and always had. Poor little mites! Life shouldn’t be so hard for them already; it got plenty hard for grownups.

It wasn’t until he noticed a particular other somebody hanging around that John’s boredom ebbed away. The man was podgy and had that expression of sincere goodwill that was carefully crafted by only the most perverse sort of person. John’s attentions suddenly fixated on him and he just knew he’d be needing his new knives shortly. John went back to his bedsit, not worried about finding the other man again because he was John and John always finished his missions. Knives sharpened to a glowing gleam he strapped them on, tugged on his worn coat and ghosted into the night, his cane barely making a sound as he tapped down the streets.

Street kids were wary of John but not afraid. Over the months he hadn’t troubled them, often sharing his meagre meals with the smallest ones, never too much because even they knew he didn’t have a lot. He’d made a sort of routine of his night walks, checking on the little faces he recognized, just seeing if he could see them again. He didn’t talk to them, that would have been strange but if he missed someone John often walked the streets for extra hours until the missing lamb had been spotted.

He spotted the other man that night and fingered his knives lovingly. This would be their big debut and John knew exactly where they would dance their first dance. John wandered carefully, the CCTV cameras that were everywhere presenting absolutely no challenge for someone like him. John thrived on shadow-games. He found the man after only an hour, the boy he was with couldn’t have been more than twelve, already dead-eyed and business-like. The lad just glanced at John and shrugged. John tipped his head to the side and the boy disappeared, leaving the very frightened man alone in the basement of an abandoned complex where so many dark things happened. “Were you going to pay him at least or just kill him like the others?”

The soft man in front of John bared his teeth, “They’re vermin! They’re sent to tempt and torment the righteous! I rid the world of their filth, I’m a hero.”

“You rape children and murder them. How does that make you a hero?” asked John softly but the man didn’t have a chance to answer. John was on him before he could blink, his tongue deftly being extracted before the howls could really begin. John worked carefully, making sure the man suffered as much as possible before the loss of blood made his heart fail. John wrapped up what was left in a bit of plastic sheeting and with care managed to dump it in the Thames.

John knew he’d probably be caught. He was careful but it was a city, there were eyes everywhere. John didn’t know who the boy was, he could have told anyone by now but as far as John could determine he made it back to his bedsit unnoted. The dead man’s face appeared in the paper a week or so later, his family had been notified of his disappearance but they didn’t make a very large effort to seek him out. John felt satisfied; they were probably as relieved as the street kids were that he wasn’t still going to be coming to family get-togethers.

John began bringing his medical bag with him. He got a job at a local clinic and they got a bit of a tax write-off for volunteer work so John was equipped with bandages and other small helpful things to make his way through dank alleys and seedy neighborhoods to bandage up scrapes, tie up sprains, and make sad days a little brighter for the lost children of London. He liked it and felt the bleakness on his soul lift for a little while. The children called him Doctor John.

The bedsit was a piece of crap and it was eating its way through his meagre savings. Even with the clinic John would need to move soon and it annoyed him. He had his eye on someone, the kids had cut their eyes towards a particular woman whenever John was around and he’d paid attention. She had a sweet kind smile for everyone but John saw her mask slip one day and his interest was engaged. Leaving the bedsit meant leaving the woman behind and John wasn’t sure he could do that.

Mike was always so fucking friendly. Even back in medical school John had been forced to endure chatty lunches and laugh-filled study sessions. He’d practiced on Mike, perfecting his reactions to social situations until John was able to move easily in nearly any society as if he actually wanted to be there. Mike wasn’t the only person John mimicked but it left enough of an impression that John didn’t kill him for shouting John’s name out in the middle of the park.

Mike earned himself a life by introducing John to Sherlock Holmes. Right away John could see that this Holmes fellow had secrets and wore a mask. John’s interest was engaged, nearly enough to forget the woman, but not quite. 221 B Baker Street waited and if this Sherlock person were hiding the wrong sorts of things then John could easily take care of it later on. If he wasn’t hiding the wrong kinds of things, well, John was looking for a new place to stay anyway so he really had nothing to lose.

He moved in.

He killed a man for Sherlock.

Sherlock liked it.

John liked Sherlock and wanted to kill for him again, just to see that expression one more time. Sherlock’s face had stilled as realization flooded in and he’d looked directly at John’s expressionless face and John knew he knew. What he wasn’t expecting was Sherlock’s instant reaction and acceptance, merely asking John out for dinner instead. They became friends. John took care of the woman and for over a year and a half he didn’t need to take care of anyone because Sherlock dealt with them in his own way. John was satisfied.

Sherlock wasn’t there anymore and John walked the dark streets alone once again. He wasn’t bored anymore, he was lonely. His limp was long gone and he’d gotten over most of the weakness in his arm but the hole in his chest wouldn’t heal. He missed his best friend.

The time had gone by so swiftly. John had done everything he could to remain ordinary, watching Sherlock closely, correcting the younger man when he strayed too far from the right side of normal. “Bit not good?” the taller man would ask. John would sort through his own list of acceptable behavior and tell Sherlock where he’d gone wrong. People were uncomfortable when they saw you weren’t like them. Sherlock hadn’t allowed anyone to help him except for John and the doctor had been proud to see the high-functioning sociopath slowly appear more and more like a normal person. If they’d had more time John could have taught Sherlock to be as invisible as he was, but they’d run out. John walked alone once more searching for something to kill.

The military had been very helpful. They’d taught John routine and order, showed him how to be, how to react, how not to react. Very helpful indeed. Medical school had also been helpful. John had learned much about normal people there, he’d made note of all of it. It was helping now as he walked those damp cold streets, seeking the new faces he watched out for, looking for predators and finding them.

It was pathetically easy now.

John now knew more about how to avoid the Yard than ever, thanks to Sherlock. John could have danced a corpse up and down the streets if he’d chosen and never be caught. Who would find him, Anderson? Laughable, they were all laughable. Still, John was a killer not a fool so he chose with great care, making sure as many loose ends as possible were knotted shut before he closed in.

His targets were always the same sort, low-lives who took pleasure off the despoilment of innocence. There were flesh-peddlers everywhere and John could do nothing to stem their depredations but those precious few that caught his watchful eye, well, those he could take to pieces and he did.

The children knew, of course they did. They still called him Doctor John and came to him with their small hurts, cutting their eyes at tall people so John would notice and their little system grew. London saw a virtual bloodbath in unsolved crimes as people were found all over the city, all cut to pieces. Only the fact that their filthy secrets finally were outed kept the fear from spreading through the streets. Somehow Londoners didn’t mind a vigilante who killed pedophiles exclusively.

The law was the law and a task force was appointed. Lestrade was called in as a specialist and eventually, so was John. Lestrade introduced him, “This is Doctor John Watson, you may remember him as the late Sherlock Holmes’ partner. John will be able to help us find whoever this is, no one knew London or crime the way those two did.”

John looked around at the skeptical faces of the other detectives and specialist who had been assembled as part of the task force, “I wasn’t the professional detective, that was Sherlock. Still, I learned a lot about forensic examinations of crime scenes and while I’d be the last one to agree with anything Lestrade says he’s right, I’ll probably the best help you can get. So, what have you got so far?” and just like that John was being paid to help catch himself.

He laughed all the way to the bank. He needed the money. Rent at 221 B Baker Street had never been really cheap but John wouldn’t give up his home for anything. He’d had a friend there, a real friend, something that John had never enjoyed before and that was so precious it was worth taking extra work or hiring himself out to the Yard to keep it.

John started dating. He didn’t really want to but he was starting to get funny looks so he searched around and found a woman named Mary. She seemed acceptable. John did all the things boyfriends did and it seemed to keep her happy. After a few months she didn’t annoy him too much so he asked her to marry him.

Sort of.

Sherlock came home and John punched him. God he’d missed that lunatic! Now John had his best friend back but then there was also Mary who had his ring on her finger. He hadn’t exactly proposed but she’d slipped it on anyway and when Sherlock looked at it he got a look on his face that made John feel a bit odd inside.

John didn’t like that face. Sherlock made it every time he looked at Mary’s ring but the wedding was happening. Sherlock was helping arrange it and Mary seemed very pleased with both of them. John wasn’t happy but getting married is what normal people did, so John was doing it. Having Sherlock help made it bearable, and helping Sherlock with the odd case kept John from roaming the streets.

As the wedding grew closer John began staying back in his old room on Baker Street. “Too many of your girlfriends around talking about the wedding, you don’t need a bloke there.” he’d explain and Mary would throw her arms around him and kiss his face all over for being so understanding. John worked full time these days so he gave her free reign over their joint account to splurge as she would on the wedding. He really didn’t care. Money wasn’t interesting. Sherlock, now Sherlock was interesting.

Sherlock taught John how to dance for the wedding. He was composing the wedding song specifically so John would be able to dance to it easily, both men spending long evenings together in each other’s arms while Sherlock picked up and put down his violin a thousand times as they worked it all out. John liked it very much and liked Sherlock even more for doing it.

Sherlock kissed him one night and John liked that very much too. Kisses with other people had been decent enough but Sherlock’s mouth was made for John and he kissed the taller man back hungrily. “Mary can’t know.” he said and Sherlock nodded.

Kissing was all they did at first, the wedding plans took up all the time they had when they weren’t working on cases but they were sweet enough that John didn’t mind fucking Mary when she asked for sex, and didn’t want to kill anyone afterward the way he so often did. He touched her less and less, never having really enjoyed sex with women but it was expected. When he was in the army it had been easier, just a string of meaningless one-night-stands, all simply practice until something less hollow came along.

Something like a tall willowy genius with a personality so extreme he made John look perfectly normal no matter what. John was very interested in Sherlock, very interested indeed and now that Sherlock had let John know that more than friendship was available well, there was just Mary to deal with right?

He’d let her have her wedding. A marriage made people look normal and John needed to look normal. The search for the pedophile killer had been stymied, of course it had. John hadn’t killed anyone for weeks now, Sherlock was home. John wasn’t lonely. Once they were married John would keep Mary around for a while and then get a divorce. Divorce was so common now that it would make John more normal than ever and he didn’t mind waiting. He was very patient.

Sherlock wasn’t so patient. He kept John all to himself for stag night, and tried to get the old soldier drunk first but John knew all his tricks and played them back until they were both well and truly smashed. Sherlock kissed John again. John liked it more than ever.

“I want to fuck you.” said John and Sherlock nodded.

“Finally. Yes, let’s go John.” John had to laugh. Sex with Sherlock was all science and sweat. The taller man named off all the body parts they enjoyed together and listed the chemicals that made their brains want to melt and made their cocks harder than steel. Sherlock was a bottom and John liked that very much. His cock felt right buried up Sherlock’s arse and the man liked a bit of pain too which just made it all the sweeter for John who liked it too.

 

John was ruthless and Sherlock was greedy so by the time morning rolled around the detective could barely walk and John’s cock was a bit chafed. “You’re still getting married.” stated Sherlock flatly when John dressed in the morning.

“Yes. Everything’s paid for, the guests are all here and our suits match.” Sherlock was in a mood for a long time after that but John didn’t do anything to make him feel better because Sherlock was doing everything John wanted to do but louder. He got married and neither man was happy about it.

The reception was a bit of a bust. Sherlock managed to save John’s old comrade and that was nice but the baby news had been something of a horrid shock. Mary was cheating on John and John didn’t know how that had slipped his notice.

John couldn’t have children. Even if he hadn’t been ill as a child several incidents while in the army had guaranteed his sterility. His cock and balls still worked so he hadn’t minded. He’d never planned on children so finding out his wife of mere hours was up the duff was a bit hard to take. Dancing the dance he’d perfected with his lover made it worse. Sherlock left before John could tell him.

John was hunting again, his sex-holiday a total waste of time. Mary was sick every day and John barely spoke to her. She was a lying bitch and he didn’t want to touch her. They came back and things were awful between them so John spent as much time with Sherlock as he could but Sherlock was dating a woman, Mary’s friend Janine. He didn’t touch John again, not even a peck on the lips and John did not like that so he stopped talking to Sherlock for a while and just hunted. He didn’t find a target, his focus was off. Sherlock was hiding out in a drug den when John agreed to find Mary’s neighbor’s missing son. John told Mary he needed to stay with Sherlock until the danger period was over. With relief she agreed and didn’t question it when John packed up his things and moved out of their house and back to Baker Street. John left nothing behind.

She shot Sherlock. John was going to fucking end her, baby or no baby. John’s knives were already razor sharp, and he had every intention of finding her but Sherlock’s weak fingers wrapped around his wrist, “Don’t leave me. I need you.” John couldn’t go. He stayed with Sherlock instead.

Sherlock spoke to John after the debacle with Mary. How had he missed this? How had John allowed so many things to slip past his notice? She was an assassin, a high-caliber one and she had made a terrible error when she’d tried to kill his best friend. John wanted her close now, ached to have her in his arms so he could squeeze the life out of her lying body and rid the world of her deceit.

The child though. It wasn’t his but it wasn’t to blame either. John decided the babe was innocent and stayed his hand for its sake. As far as Mary knew John believed it was his and he let her keep thinking that, “I want the kid.” he told Sherlock who had merely shrugged and agreed.

“Christmas is coming and my parents expect Mycroft and I to be there. I want you to meet them. Mary can come, you can reconcile with her there.” John wasn’t smiling. Sherlock walked right up to him and looked down seriously at John, “You’re married John. I won’t touch you while you are married. You made a choice and it wasn’t me.” Sherlock left John sitting there stewing quietly. He had chosen and wrongly. John should have married Sherlock.

It went from bad to worse. John faked his reconciliation with Mary after he read her fucking file the second he was alone. What a whore. He’d put his cock in her! Fucking hell that kid could be anyone’s! He got blood-work done and was relieved to find he was clean. John told Mary that he needed time to work things out in his head so he moved into their guest room and watched her like a hawk. She was a shady cunt and he fucking hated that she was keeping him from Sherlock.

He would have liked to have hunted but he wasn’t focused and he knew that would lead to mistakes. Instead he watched Mary and tried to spend as much time with Sherlock as he could but his lover had frozen him out so John gritted his teeth and bore the months as best he could.

Mary really thought she had John fooled. She played nice all the time, making a big deal over his impending fatherhood and only learning to act from Sherlock had kept John’s face from telling her how close to death she was every minute of the day. Her baby protected her and she had no idea. John played the devoted husband but never resumed his intimacies with her.

She was still working. It sickened John.

Sometimes he told Mary he was working a case with Sherlock and that he’d be gone for a day, no more than two. With tender concern he fussed over her until she was nearly chasing him out of their house with a smile. She’d always wait thirty minutes and then she’d leave. John followed of course, she never spotted him. No one ever did. John knew how to be invisible; he’d practiced his entire life.

During her pregnancy Mary killed no less than eighteen people. John counted. Most of them were political kills; some merely hits, usually of an unwanted spouse or ex-lover, something John found very ironic. He didn’t stop her, it never occurred to him to try. Until she targeted someone he felt some kind of something for the killing itself didn’t trouble him. He killed. She killed. She shot Sherlock. She had to die. In John’s mind it was very simple.

He even saved one once but it meant revealing his presence. He pulled it off well, stepping out of a shop to walk briskly up to Mary on the street, his face filled with happy surprise. Her target walked away still breathing and Mary pretended to be just as happy as John was pretending. The target was a young woman, three months pregnant with the child of a much older and very married man. Mary was completely willing to kill the woman and the baby for a pay-check. John couldn’t let the child suffer so he stopped Mary and later he found the woman and told her to flee London. She did.

Mary must have known. She went into labor and refused to let him attend. He was kept in the waiting room. Sherlock came and sat with him for the twelve hours it took for the little girl to be born. The nurse brought John to see the baby the very next morning and let him hold her. John fell in love and so did Sherlock. They spent the rest of their allotted visiting hour with the child, never stopping to check on Mary at all. She vanished, barely able to walk but still managing to elude the nurses.

Sherlock didn’t want to go after her, “We have our daughter John. Let Mary go.” Signed divorce papers arrived as well as documents naming John and Sherlock the child’s legal guardians. John was very surprised but he recognized Mary’s signature. The papers had been drawn up here in London. Mycroft’s people checked it over and gave him the nod so John signed it. “You’re not married anymore John.”

They went home with Grace whom Sherlock always referred to as ‘my angel’, the tall man completely besotted with the tiny baby. They had everything set up in John’s old room for when she was bigger but for that first night Grace slept in a rocking cot in Sherlock’s room where both men spent all her sleeping hours in each other’s arms. Near the dawn Sherlock spoke into the back of John’s head, “I don’t know if I can love you John but I know that I need you very much. Would you marry me?”

John thought about that for a long time and Sherlock didn’t pressure him about it. Sherlock couldn’t love John and John wasn’t sure he really loved Sherlock but that was alright because John needed him too. Maybe that was love enough for people like them. John hunted while he thought, there were faces bearing fresh bruises too large to be made by other small hands. There was another predator out there and John needed to clear his head. 

He got the man. The bastard was well known in his community, known for his many charitable acts and kindness to animals. John took his time with him because some of his faces were missing and the ones that were left had all glanced fearfully at this person. John got angry and he got careless and didn’t know his ID badge from the clinic had fallen out.

Sherlock found it when they were called to deal with the body a few days later. It was right there, obscured with a bit of grass, unnoticed by everyone from the Yard. Sherlock looked at it and tucked it away in a pocket before deducing the scene, “Put it with the others Lestrade, whoever this killer is, he’s not leaving any more clues behind that he or she has done in the past.” Lestrade had sighed and nodded his agreement. Another cold case to add to the stack.

Sherlock gave John’s card back over dinner, “Why?” was all he asked and John thought about his answer. He didn’t want to lie to his lover.

“They hurt the children and I don’t like that.” was all he said but Sherlock understood and only nodded. “You’re not upset with me?”

Sherlock looked surprised, “I have my rules and you have yours. I suppose the only thing I’d add is ‘don’t get caught’, we have a baby to think about.” Sherlock never committed murders, petty thievery, breaking and entering, those sorts of things yes, he did them all the time but he never killed anyone. He’d been in plenty of fights, Sherlock had a long arm and swift reflexes, John liked his style but he wasn’t a killer.

Sherlock fed the baby her dinner and afterward gave her a little bath, covered her with kisses before buttoning her into her jim-jams for the night. She was already hard asleep but Sherlock sang to her anyway before tucking her into her crib. 

They were tucked into bed together, Sherlock snugged to John’s back the way he always liked to do. John found he enjoyed being held by Sherlock, it felt nice. Sherlock kissed the back of John’s head and asked, “Since when?”

John thought, “I was eleven when my next-door neighbor assaulted one of the kids from school. We all knew but the grownups didn’t believe anyone, we were just kids they said. He got someone else too, so bad she had to leave school for half a year to recover. He didn’t get caught again so I found my grandfather’s old hunting knife, crept into his house one night and opened his throat. I almost got caught but the cops bungled the investigation and nothing happened. He was just dead and I washed grandpa’s knife and put it away again.”

Sherlock was rubbing John’s arm, just relaxed and content to listen as John named off all the people he had killed before finally going into the army. It was a long list but Sherlock didn’t get bored, he asked more questions until both of them were so sleepy they couldn’t talk anymore, “So, will you?” yawned Sherlock finally.

“Yes, I’ll marry you. I should have before.” Between his husband, Grace, the Work and the clinic John found his days very filled and for the first time his life, John was entirely happy. John didn’t need to hunt again though he kept his knives. They had a daughter to protect and the kiddies on the street still needed someone to keep an eye out. Slowly John left his old life behind as he started his new one and after a year of marriage John felt he needed to say something so he looked at Sherlock, “I love you.”

Sherlock looked surprised and placed his own hand on his chest above his heart. His head tipped curiously to the side as he counted his own heartbeats, “I love you too John.”


End file.
